From the Ashes
by the moon and the stars
Summary: "Do you not know how it would tear me apart if you died?" / It takes real fear for Elijah to find his courage. Haylijah one-shot. Post-1x13.


**From the Ashes**

**Summary:** "Do you not know how it would tear me apart if you died?" / It takes real fear for Elijah to find his courage. Haylijah one-shot. Post-1x13.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me. Obviously. Does this really need to be said anymore?

**Rating:** T, but only because I'm being paranoid.

**Characters:** Hayley/Elijah FTW.

**Lyrics:** "No Day But Today" from the musical Rent by Jonathan Larson.

**A/N:** Just a little ficlet that popped into my head recently. Takes place after 1x13, the episode where Elijah saves Hayley (and Jackson, meh) from the witchy house fire, although it was heavily inspired by 1x18. All I can say is finally! About time Elijah steps up and takes what he wants ;)

Edited and posted this rather quickly, so I may come back and make some changes later. But for now, here you go!

* * *

_There's only us, there's only this  
Forget regret or life is yours to miss  
No other road, no other way  
No day but today_

* * *

Hayley flies up the stairs as the crescendo of glass shattering and muffled cursing fills her ears. The voice she knows well; it's the agitation, the helplessness of his cry that grabs hold of her somewhere deep inside, urging her onward, faster. She complies automatically, feet pounding against the floor of the Abattoir like cannon fire.

It only takes seconds to reach the source of the commotion. Rounding the final corner, Hayley comes to a screeching halt and leans against the doorframe of the study, panting. The sight that greets her beyond the threshold does nothing to calm her racing heart.

What was once an immaculate room furnishing knowledge and solitude is now a warzone of ripped parchment and scattered furniture. At least a dozen ancient graying volumes litter the floor, many of which appear as though their pages were savagely ripped from their spines. An end table and two chairs are overturned; a third sits in the corner, in pieces. Scattered shards of a beige antique lamp – one Hayley vaguely recalls as a favorite of Rebekah's – glitter mockingly from the floor. Above her, the chandelier remains one of the few pieces left unscathed, illuminating the entire scene with alarming clarity.

She doesn't have to go far to find the culprit. He faces away from her on the other side of the room, cold and silent as a statue, but she knows better than to believe the storm has passed. Even with a well-pressed suit jacket concealing the muscles beneath, she can see how tense he is. How deceptively calm. Like a grenade.

"Elijah," she ventures, finally recovered from her sprint. And her shock. "What – ?"

"Nothing." The word is low and hollow and clearly not meant for her; she wonders if he even knows he spoke aloud. If he even realizes she's here at all. "There is _nothing_ in these worthless tomes that will help me recover my family."

Then, with an effortless flick of his wrist, another world-weary book soars across the room to join the discarded collection on the floor. _Not just any book_, she observes closely. _A Grimoire._

Hayley frowns – more at that discovery than Elijah's erratic behavior. They've already sent out a vampire search party, so why seek further aid with a book of spells? Not to mention with Davina dead, they're absent their resident witch. So unless they find another who's willing, or they simply threaten one into compliance… And that's even _if_ they find a relevant spell to begin with…

No. That plan's too messy. Irrational. Reckless. None of which describe Elijah Mikaelson.

And that's when Hayley realizes how desperate he's getting.

"You heard Marcel," she tries placating him. "He's got everyone out scouring the city for Klaus and Rebekah. They'll find them – "

Elijah whips around, and the wild look on his face is enough to silence her. "It's not enough," he insists. "They are but a handful of second-rate vampires whose loyalties are questionable at best. Hardly an asset against a coven of witches that incapacitated two Original vampires as easily as swatting flies. No, Hayley. A vendetta against my family of this magnitude will not be halted by Marcel's incompetent little crew."

It's hard not to wince at the brashness of his tone, and judging by his reaction, Hayley doesn't cover her tracks well. All at once, the fight drains out of him. Shoulders unknot; fists unclench. Obsidian eyes warm into familiar brown, reminding her of the man capable of melting her insides with a simple 'good morning' and a proffered bowl of cereal.

Following his lead, Hayley relaxes from the defensive stance she doesn't even remember assuming, cursing herself an instant later. She doesn't need to hand him another reason to feel rotten.

"Forgive me," Elijah murmurs, head bowed. "I'm behaving no better than a petulant child – "

She waves off the apology. "Let's skip the 'sorry I lost my cool' speech, okay? Trust me, after living at Casa de Mikaelson for months, it'd probably take the apocalypse to faze me." He doesn't look entirely convinced though, prompting her to add, "Seriously, Elijah. Everyone's entitled to a freak out once in a while. You more than anyone else."

It's true. Preventing the feuding factions of New Orleans from slaughtering one another is a full-time job in itself, but Elijah pulls double-duty by simultaneously fulfilling his lifelong role as family mediator to a pair of squabbling siblings. It's more than enough to earn him a medal, in Hayley's opinion. She can't even imagine a thousand years of self-sacrifice, betrayal, and heartache taking its toll on his sanity. And honestly, it's a wonder entire cities aren't decimated when he needs an emotional outlet, let alone one measly room in his enormous family home.

As her words finally start to take root, a small smile blooms on Elijah's face, chasing away the guilt. "I'll take your word for it," he says graciously, and even all the way across the study, she feels bathed by his sincerity. It feels only natural when she smiles back.

Seconds tick by, and a sort of nervous energy hums between them as she lingers in the doorway. Hayley can't put her finger on it. It's not awkward exactly, but it's not comfortable either. It suddenly occurs to her that he might want to deal with his demons in peace, without her intrusion. But one look at their jumbled surroundings is enough to remind her that time is not on their side, and neither of them has the luxury of running away this time.

Reluctantly she steps inside the room, heedful of the minefield of debris, before she gets the ball rolling. "So, any idea who these other witches are?"

She doesn't miss the way the Original's eyes darken again. "No. Just the one."

"Right. Celeste." She practically spits the name. "You know, most vindictive ex-girlfriends leave it at Facebook stalking or even burning all your clothes, but yours is a whole new batch of crazy."

"She's clever," he admits begrudgingly, "clever and cruel. No doubt at this very moment she's delighting at Niklaus and Rebekah's suffering, and mine especially, knowing that I'm powerless to help either of them."

"Why you?" Hayley asks suddenly, side-stepping another splintered casualty of Elijah's frustration. His blank stare beckons her to elaborate. "I mean, you were in love with her back in the day – " she hopes she's not wrong, using past tense " – and it was Klaus who got her killed. But the way you put it, it's like _you're_ her primary target in this whole revenge business, and your brother and sister are just collateral damage."

"And you."

That stops her in her tracks, and she ducks her head at the reminder. "And me." All too easily she recalls the taste of smoke deep in her lungs, choking the life from her, and the roar of billowing flames as they snaked around, caging them in, determined to drag them all to hell.

_All_. It's only then that Hayley realizes the full extent of her companion's sacrifice. "Elijah, thank you for saving my friend, too. Jackson," she supplies, though he never asked. "If I had known that your family was in trouble – "

It's his turn to brush off the impending apology. "With my body weakened from Celeste's poison, there was never any chance of reaching them in time."

Her eyes fall. "Again, because of me."

"No," he says firmly. "Because of _me_. Hayley." Startled by his intensity, her chin snaps up – and he's right in front of her. "Do not think for even an instant that I regret the choice I made tonight, pulling you from that fire."

It takes a conscious effort not to read too much into that. His proximity definitely doesn't help. "I'm not saying that you'd happily step aside and watch me burn, Elijah, just that there were consequences. That's all."

"Regardless, I stand by my decision."

"I doubt your siblings would," she can't help but say.

"I disagree."

Hayley peers at him skeptically. Neither of his siblings is particularly known for altruism, and given the unimaginable torment they're surely enduring right now, she doubts either would hesitate to trade places with her. Even Rebekah, who's become a sort of friend and ally recently – a side effect of living in a war-torn city full of raging alpha males – would save her own skin if push came to shove. It's survival. A one-thousand-year-old instinct too deeply embedded to change.

But when Elijah aims a pointed look downward, Hayley belatedly grasps his intention. She reaches for the growing bulge along her abdomen, cradling it with one hand, the other tracing light circles out of some involuntary habit she picked up when she started showing. Now the gesture's far from comforting; it's a grim reminder of what she nearly lost tonight. What they _all_ nearly lost.

Elijah nods at her understanding. "Rebekah already loves this child as much as she would her own, and my brother, despite his brazen attempts to convince me otherwise, would do anything and everything to ensure her safety as well. If I ever let anything happen to you, Niklaus would never forgive me." He breaks off suddenly; pauses before adding, "Nor would I forgive myself."

His voice catches on the last syllable, emphasizing how true that is, how deeply the loss would cut him. It's as if he's only just allowed himself to internalize the possibility, and the pain, the guilt, is far too brutal to imagine. Which is perhaps what urges him to reach for her: a desperate need to confirm the reality standing in front of him, very much alive.

But his hand never reaches its destination; it freezes at the last second, achingly close, leaving Hayley's face tingling with his phantom touch. Even as disappointment floods her, she's hardly surprised. This unrequited longing is all too familiar. Push and pull, advance and retreat; it's always the same old routine. Any time she and Elijah toe the line between 'friendly' and 'friendlier,' he throws on the breaks and shuts down, leaving her to wonder if he deliberately sets up these moments simply to drive them both insane.

Slowly Elijah's hand falls to his side, but he makes no move to leave. Hayley feels torn between frustration and relief.

As a thick silence stretches between them, somehow growing louder and more insistent than the cacophony that drove her to this room in the first place, Hayley vows to wait it out. Elijah started this; he might as well finish it. And though he has a habit of testing her limits, she has a habit of letting him, if only to see how far he'll push.

So she watches, perplexed, as a vast spectrum of emotions flicker across his face. She gets the impression that each is a voice inside his head, screaming and shouting and vying for control, but it's anyone's guess who will win. Many of them manifest too briefly to identify, but she catches enough. Exhaustion. Shame. Confusion. Desire. Amazement. And then, finally –

Resolve.

"Tonight I was more terrified than I have been in many years."

The confession tumbles from his lips without warning, as if escaping from a window that's rapidly closing. It's all Hayley can do to mask her shock. Elijah should be throwing up barriers, making a graceful exit; the status quo. Certainly not giving her a glimpse behind the curtain. And a reason to stay.

But Hayley's not about to second guess her good fortune. "Because of the baby," she encourages.

"Yes," he says carefully. "And no."

Hayley blinks, trying to ignore the way her heart flutters at the implication. "What do you mean?"

Taking a deep breath, Elijah releases it slowly, decisively, as if preparing himself. For what, she has no idea. But the way he's regarding her now – with a hard, penetrating gaze that both roots her to the floor and makes her want to jump out of her skin – is more than enough to make her throw away her assumption about his inevitable retreat. If anything, he's only just getting started.

"In order to punish me for abandoning her in death, Celeste conspired to force me to choose between those whom I fear to lose the most. Hayley, has it escaped your notice that you fall into that category?" Elijah bends his face towards hers, reading her hesitation. "Do you not know how it would tear me apart if you died?" he pushes.

The fire in his eyes burns stronger with every word, his honesty branding her heart in a way that even werewolf healing can't cure. Something ignites inside her, and as she feels heat blossoming between them, she is instantly transported back inside that inferno consuming the plantation house. Any response she has lodges in her throat like smoke.

"Celeste knew," Elijah continues, undeterred. "Her assumption about my regard for you was entirely accurate. And she tried to use it against me, by reminding me of the devastation I felt when I lost her, and the guilt I suffered over my divided loyalties. She tried to turn me away from you… by reminding me that my feelings are poison, only capable of drawing those dearest to me into the line of fire."

She can't hold back any longer. "Elijah, that's not – "

"She _tried_, Hayley," he emphasizes. "She did not succeed."

Once again, words fail her.

"Celeste may have spoken the truth, but she didn't break me," he expands, his voice full of wonder. "She set me free."

Hayley shakes her head, her patience wearing to the breaking point. His answers only beget more questions. It's like he's deliberately talking in riddles – a new, maddening method to hold her at arm's length. "_Set you free_? Elijah, what on earth are you talking about?"

For the first time since he began this speech, he falters. She's ready to implode any second.

"I may lose two members of my family tonight," he finally says. There's a certainty to his admission that should feel devastating, and yet somehow, it feels anything but. "I refuse to lose another. And I fear that in pushing you away all these months, and even sending you away tonight, I am in danger of losing you as surely as if you perished in that house fire. Perhaps not today, or even tomorrow, but someday…"

The words fall from him like pieces of rusted armor, stripping him to the core, baring his intentions for all the world to see, and it finally dawns on Hayley the significance of what he's saying.

He's not hiding from her. Not anymore.

Gone is the man who so often tip-toed around her, distancing himself out of some misguided desire to shield her from potential heartache… and much worse. This man is different. More… alive. Aware. Like a phoenix reborn, he's living proof that someone stronger – someone fueled by his fears, not ruled by them – emerged from the ashes of that burning house.

He was right. Celeste did free him… from himself. From the fear that accompanies his feelings for a girl he never should have fallen for. Because that fear undoubtedly pales in comparison to the absolute terror he felt tonight, racing against the flames to reach her first. And if he's capable of conquering the latter… why not the former, too?

As if in answer, his hand brushes her face – this time without a trace of hesitation. Hayley's lips part, the rest of her too stunned to move.

It's such a strangely wonderful thing, the way he gently palms her cheek, his thumb stroking feather-light circles against her flushed skin, because this hand – one that's ripped out countless hearts and desecrated the very room they're standing in – has never made her feel more safe. Treasured. As if her very existence is nothing short of a miracle. Then again, given the events of the evening, that's not exactly a stretch.

"Second chances are a gift, Hayley, and I'm done taking them for granted. I'm done living in fear of consequences that no longer seem significant in light of what almost came to pass tonight." Elijah's mouth tips into a smile – one that carries the full weight of a promise.

Her pulse quickens. Breathing comes to a grinding halt. But it's when his touch turns urgent, radiating sparks all the way down to her toes, that she knows exactly where this leads.

Clearly, so does he. And this time he's staying.

"My life is full of regrets," he whispers, "but if the world should end tomorrow, then at least I will meet death knowing this isn't one of them."

Elijah's hand moves swiftly… and then he's kissing her.

_About damn time _– that's the first thought that bursts through Hayley's astonishment before she responds with equal enthusiasm.

Immediately it's followed by: if this is the poison he spoke of before, she certainly wouldn't mind drowning in it because nothing – _nothing_ – can taint the euphoria of this moment. Not abducted family members, not destroyed furniture, and certainly not fear of the unknown. For now, it's simply enough that against all odds, this moment exists.

**FIN**

* * *

**A/N:** I have to admit, this fic almost never saw the light of day. I wrote most of it before 1x20 and 1x21 aired, and as much as I LOVE those Haylijah scenes (you know the ones), I kinda felt like this fic was unintentionally competing with them. Oh well. In the end, I decided it looked too sad sitting on my laptop unfinished, and then I couldn't just _not_ post it. So here it is, whatever it's worth.

On the up side, I've been in a writing drought as of late, so hurray for getting back in the game! If any of you are anxiously awaiting my next chapter of AHC, trust me, I am hard at work on it. Hopefully this one-shot is a sign that I am getting over my writer's block.

Also, is anyone else still recovering from the TO finale? I know I am. It's going to be a loooong summer, indeed.


End file.
